


How to Talk to Girls at Coffee Shops

by PoisonKisses



Series: The Secret Loves of Poison Ivy [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Bondage, Coffee vs. Tea, F/F, F/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, marvel/dc crossover - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Steve is still trying to make heads or tails of the modern world, but when he meets a beautiful woman who knocks him head over heels, he's got to try to figure out how to talk to her.No one wants to be a creeper!





	1. Sketches

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for my very own Cap!
> 
> And yes, that title is totally a reference to Gaiman.
> 
> Also, I'm choosing to gloss the problems of this sort of crossover.

It took me a bit, but finally, I realized that coffee shops are today's version of diners. In my day, you got your breakfast at a greasy spoon, read the paper, talked to, or flirted with, the waitress (in my case her name was Chessie, she was thirty years my senior) and socialized with the other guys on their way to work. Or, I guess you were there to grab lunch or dinner--quick burger and fries and maybe a slice of key lime pie. It was personal. You saw the same guys every day. You knew their business. You talked.

This? This is different. I've been here three times now and had three different...servers. I guess the word is barista, and the first day I came in, I tried not to stare at her, but her hair was purple, she had three piercings in her lip, her name tag said 'Razor,' and when she asked for my name to write it on my cup (of actual, honest-to-goodness COFFEE, I don't even know what half the stuff on that menu even IS) and I told her "Steve" she looked at me like I was a mutant Zemo monster. I guess it fits, in this crowd I am definitely the odd man out. 

Today was no better. I was sitting at one of these little cafes, you know the ones, the big chains that are everywhere now? Anyway, one of those in Brooklyn, just a few blocks from where I'd lived as a kid. I ordered my coffee from a guy with an actual waxed mustache, like my gramps used to wear, and sat with my coffee in a corner to read my paper. I had my sketch pad with me and my notebook of things I've missed, and was settling in for a cold December day--it was overcast with a serious bite in the air--definitely threatening snow but not actually doing anything just yet. I was kind of looking forward to it--cold air is my favorite to run in, and I'd enjoyed my ten mile that morning.

I did feel awfully strange. Everyone else was glued to their laptops, or tablet computers, or phone computers. Even the computers have computers these days. Oh, I have a phone, and I'm not hopeless with it--it increases strategic efficiency by a huge margin--but I don't see the value of the thing for entertainment. The phones seem to make people strangers to each other. Instead of focusing on it, I was sketching.

I've always found sketching relaxing. Before a battle I was notorious for finding a quiet corner and just doing face studies of the principal actors around me--I found out later that my work found its way into several official files and AARs (After Action Reviews.) I was working on a study of mustache barista when the door chime tingled and I first caught a glimpse of...her.

I've seen a lot of beautiful women over the years. I'm on a team with a Russian spy who poses as an international model for crying out loud, but this lady blew every single one of them out of the water. No contest. Now, Nat is a redhead, but this woman's hair was a shade I've never seen before. Blood red. The red of a really rich, fresh rose, and it tumbled in thick curls down her back like a waterfall of fire. She was wearing a forest green beret and a matching turtleneck over a darker green skirt with a bulky bag worn crossbody. The strap pressed the material against her body and I could see she was curvy. A bombshell. She looked like she'd stepped right off the nose of a B-52.

She stepped into the heat and I could see her practically shiver with pleasure and relief at the comfortable warmth. She took off her big sunglasses and gave a cursory glance around the cafe. That's what caught me. Her eyes were--intense. Big and a shade of green I've never seen--the green of fresh new shoots of grass--and framed with gorgeous lashes and perfectly arched brows, I took one look at them and knew I'd be spending the rest of the night trying to capture them on paper and end up giving up. 

I must have been gaping at her like a boned fish, because she met my gaze--she was bold and not even the least bit demure about it--and I was pinned to my seat. She held my gaze for a hot minute and then, knowing she had me, quirked the corner of her lips up (and they were great lips...lips made for kissing) and walked to the line. I could feel my cheeks burning and made a study of my coffee cup before glancing up to see if anyone had noticed.

Everyone else was staring at her too.

Mustache barista was stammering at her like he'd been hit in the head. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but I could hear that she had a voice to match her looks--deep and musical. Part of me was saying to myself, "Steve, you're eavesdropping. Give the woman privacy!" but I couldn't help straining to hear when the barista called out, "Pamela!" and handed her two drinks. She took them in her gloved hands after slipping her glasses on, left the way she came in, pushing the door with her hips. Every eye followed her out, including mine, and I immediately flipped to another page to try and capture everything about her I'd seared into my memory.

Pamela...

**

"Hey, Steve, what's with you tonight? I don't think I've never seen you so distracted!" exclaimed Nat. Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, was dressed in yoga pants and a halter top and even though she and I have never really had that sort of relationship, under normal circumstances I would've admired her. She was gorgeous, but I was still mooning over the coffee customer I only knew as Pamela. I tried to play it off with a noncommittal shrug.

"Hey, we got there. Just a few bumps in the road."

"Yeah, Rogers, It must've been a hot time down at the center. That Lawrence Welk really works up the ol' ticker, eh?" Tony said with a grin, toweling his hair as he came out of the shower in a huge cloud of steam, a second towel around his waist. Behind him, I saw Falcon getting ready to jump to my defense.

"Aw, come on, that ain't right. I'm getting him there"

Those two chuckleheads started going at each other, but as I was unwrapping my hands I could feel Nat's eyes on me, and knew I was turning red. She's entirely too good at reading people.

"Only one thing would make you blush like this. Who is she?" That stopped Tony and Sam short.

"Wait, Captain Ameri-shy has a little lady on the side? I take it all back, Rogers. Who is she?" I wanted to punch Tony.

Nat had plopped down and was unlacing her boots. "Oh, no holding out. I thrive on vicariously living through other people's romances. DEETS, soldier!"

Reluctantly, I fished the sketchpad out of my locker, flipped it to one of the face studies I'd made of her that afternoon, and handed it to Nat. "I don't know much. Red hair, beautiful. Her name is Pamela. I saw her at the coffee shop this morning." Nat gave a low whistle, Tony and Sam crowing behind her to get a peek at the sketch.

In a low voice, sans sarcasm, Tony muttered, "Damn, I forget how good you are sometimes."

"She's hot, bro," Sam said, flashing his trademark grin, "What's she like, what does she do?"

"I don't actually know," I admitted as Nat paged through several sketches I'd done from memory--trying to capture her eyes, the fall of her hair, the fullness of her lips. "I just saw her, I'm not quite up to, you know, talking yet."

"You haven't talked to her yet?" There was a chorus of groans from the assembly. "Look, Steve," Nat began, tucking her short-ish hair behind an ear and looking at me earnestly, "if you like this girl, you need to talk to her. Get her number. I think you, more than anyone else I know, understand that life is short and regrets suck..."

**

I didn't see her again for a week, but I guarantee you I was in the coffee shop everyday. The baristas knew me by name and knew my order before I could get it out.

It was lightly snowing and I was idly sketching her from memory when the doors chimed and she came in. She was bundled up in a long, faux fur coat and there were snowflakes in her hair. I could see she was shivering, and her cheeks were rosy from the chill, but like before she took off her glasses and walked toward the end of the line.

I was...terrified. I've faced down the Red Skull without flinching, slugged a rampaging Hulk in the jaw, and the prospect of talking to this beautiful girl had me shaking in my boots. Nat was right, though. No regrets. I'll never make the mistake of waiting until it's too late again. I stood abruptly and walked up behind her, my pulse racing and my lips dry. Tony would have been suave and funny, Sam confident and charming. Nat swung that way, she'd already have been unzipping the woman's boots by now. I had to soldier up.

I'm Captain America, for pity's sake!

"Excuse me, miss," I began. This close I could smell her hair--slightly damp from the snow, it smelled like jasmine, a perfume that was both subtle and irresistible.

She turned, her face tilting up slightly to meet my gaze. She was tall--tall enough that I didn't tower over her. She was the perfect height for kissing, I thought, and immediately blushed. Her eyes were intelligent and perceptive. She reminded me in many ways of Nat, I realized, and I knew right away she wouldn't miss much. I froze, pinned by her gaze again, and tried to swallow past the lump in my throat.

"Yes?" said Pamela Isley--Poison Ivy.


	2. I'll Have my Beefcake and Eat it Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poison Ivy isn't used to trying to let a guy down easy, but this big hunk of earnest, decent, honest beefcake doesn't deserve her normal response, right?

He was cute.

That's what I decided, after staring at him for a few awkward moments. I'm by no means a good judge of male attractiveness, but he was tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, with a mop of unruly blonde hair and startling blue eyes (the exact color of Harley's eyes, so that had something to do with my initial lack of irritation, I was sure.) He was bashful, his cheeks turning as red as my hair, and as I stared him down he scratched the back of his neck in discomfort. I let my "Yes?" hang in the air between us, waiting for him to answer, and the poor guy looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

The irony was: I was in a pretty good mood, all things considered. I was visiting Harley in Brooklyn, which violated my personal rule about setting in foot in New York City--a place that made Gotham seem clean. It was freezing cold, and snowing, and I was out in it, which is madness. I suffer from extreme forms of Seasonal Affective Disorder, S.A.D., and I'd only recently found that UV light therapy and staying consistently warm were the best ways to combat it. Left to my own devices, I'd be wintering in Brazil, but around the holidays I had to visit Harley and Selina, so here I was, braving nasty weather, and being hit on by Mr. Beefcake.

Now, normally, I'm Poison Ivy, and I'd shut down the guy hard. Hell, given how I look, I end up doing just that a dozen times or more a day. There was something...different...about this one. This wasn't some arrogant douche assuming he could flash a rolex, drop a line about how much money he had, and the gorgeous redhead would giggle and fall into bed with him, this guy seemed...genuine. Earnest. There was absolutely no guile in his eyes. That? That was a new experience for me.

"I'm--I'm sorry to bother you, miss, I just wanted..." he started. His voice was deep, powerful, the kind of voice that would carry over noise. I can't help it, I'm an analyst, and my brain was already working. Broad and well-built, ramrod straight bearing. Athletic--the way he walked and moved reminded me a lot of Selina--no wasted motion, light on his feet, like a cat ready to pounce. Soldier? Warrior? Too bulky for a dancer, but he moved like one. That voice reminded me of Diana's--so I was leaning toward a leader of troops. Solider, I decided.

"Yes, what is it?" I said, meeting his gaze again. He blinked at me. He didn't want to be doing this, but I could visibly witness him screwing up his courage. 

"I don't do this, I'm terrible at it...I, uh, just wanted to say hello, and..." Despite what people think, I'm not a cruel person by nature. I decided to show him a little mercy.

"Are you trying to ask me out?" I kept my voice carefully neutral. I know, according to Selina, I am the 'Queen of Resting Bitch Face,' so I even threw in a ghost of a smile to try and seem less...toxic.

He seemed relieved. "Well, yes, but I was planning to start with smalltalk, introduce myself, maybe ask for your number. I...uh...don't know how this works anymore--not that I was ever very good at this..."

It was an odd thing to say. Anymore? Despite myself, I was curious. Also, it was still a winter horror-land out there and I was not in any hurry to go back out in the snow. "Tell you what, let me pick up my drinks, and I'll sit at your messy little table," and he flinched and glanced back at his notebook strewn little nook, "and exchange the required social pleasantries with you. Deal?" He grinned at me, sheepishly. He had good teeth. Selina once commented she thought I was created in a lab by a group of horny teenage boys with a Jessica Rabbit fetish. I found myself thinking he must've been created in one by a bunch of teenage girls at Christian camp--he was so nice, sweet, and safe.

"It's a deal." I turned to go through the line, ordering Harley's ridiculous drink (seriously, I'm the most talented bio-chemist in the world and I've consciously and explicitly chosen to never analyze the contents of that soup of sugar and caffeine and pumpkin spice) and my own tea. Yes, I could brew a better quality tea at home without spending nearly ten dollars on it, but I needed to get a drink too so the drooling barista wouldn't think Harley's drink was for me. Of course he was drooling, I was used to this reaction, but the guy literally needed to wipe his mouth whenever I stepped up to give him my order. I sat at Mr. Beefcake's table and crossed my legs, placing the two drinks in front of me. He had a rolled up newspaper, several sketchbooks, and a spiral notebook--not a full sized one, a pocket notebook--with an inkpen stuck through the rings and all of it was scattered over the table. His own drink, as well, and I could tell it was straight coffee, two sugars. While I won't be giving Cheetah a run for her money any time soon, enhanced smell and taste is one of my gifts.

He looked at me for a long moment and I shrugged out of my coat. This close to the heat vent it was a little uncomfortable. Plus, it was a bit of a test. The top I was wearing showed a hint of cleavage and most men would have been riveted, but to this guy's credit, he glanced but met my eyes. "So," I began, a little uncomfortable myself as I tried to remember my human days and talking to boys in coffee shops, except, I was always invisible Pam Isley back then and no one ever talked to me...

"Yeah," he said, again rubbing the back of his neck. Nervous tell? "I know this is a little out of line. I saw you last week and didn't have a chance to strike up a conversation."

"So, you what, waited until I came back?" He winced.

"It sounds bad, I know. I don't do this often or...ever. I'm terrible at this,"

"Yes, you've said that already." He had a pained look on his face. "In anyone else I'd assume it was stalker behavior, but I have a talent for reading men, and I don't that's what this is."

"You get stalked...a lot?" He seemed genuinely surprised. There was something really weird about this man. I was even more intrigued than before.

"Well, I'm a woman in the modern world. Of course I get stalked." I took a moment to add a bit of honey to my tea and took a drink. There were extra chemicals--preservatives I assumed--in the tea leaves. That was disappointing. He seemed to catch my grimace.

"Tea? Not a coffee drinker?"

"I prefer it. I don't need the caffeine and enjoy the natural flavors. I notice you are drinking plain old coffee. Not interested in pumpkin spice?" 

"I'm used to a plain old cup of joe, to be honest." He took a drink of said coffee. "I'm Steve."

"Pamela," I answered. 'Cup of joe?' I thought to myself.

"I know. I sort of, overheard the other day when you came in."

I arched an eyebrow, smirking rather than offended. "More stalker behavior? Should I be afraid or flattered?"

"Well, definitely not offended. I mentioned I saw a pretty girl to my...coworkers...and they encouraged me to ask you out."

"Oh, you think I'm pretty?" 

"Well, pretty doesn't begin to describe you." He was looking down when he said it. 

"So now you're trying flattery?"

"Is it working?" He said with a very charming, sheepish grin. I decided to cut to the chase. Harley's drink would be cold if I stayed very long.

"A bit." I eyed his sketchbooks. "Are you an artist, Steve?"

"I'm a soldier, actually. A Captain in the Army. Sketching is just a hobby--" I was right, of course. I upgraded him to 'Captain Beefcake' in my head.

"Well, Steve, as far as asking me out, use your artist's eye. How many drinks did I order?" He stared at the cups for a moment, and I felt a little bad when I saw the look of disappointment cross his features.

"Oh. Oh, wow, I'm sorry to have bothered you, miss. Whoever he is, he's a lucky guy." 

"Well, it's not quite that simple. SHE's very lucky, but we also have a pretty open relationship. I don't really do monogamy, Steve. So, normally I'd entertain the notion, and who knows, might actually say yes, but I've learned many people don't really understand our dynamic." I stopped talking and tried not to laugh as his facial expressions shifted at the new data I'd given him. 

"So, you're--" he began, clearly trying to make sense of what I'd said.

"I'm in a relationship. Dating really isn't my thing. You seem like a nice enough man, but I'm afraid we're probably not romantically compatible." I stood, collecting my drinks. He stood as well, and as I turned to leave, he stopped me.

"Pamela, wait. Thanks for talking with me."

I smiled at him. I honestly don't know why I did it, but on a whim, I flipped open his little notebook. It was a list of random things. Nouns. Pop culture items. The last few lines were:

JJ Abrams  
Playstation  
Iggy Azalea

"You are so odd," I said to him, and he shrugged. I clicked his pen and wrote my name and number. "I'm curious about you, maybe we can catch a movie sometime?"

He grinned. "I'd like that."


	3. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Pam go out, but soon find it cut short when Captain America and Poison Ivy have to stop the Rhino and Solomon Grundy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the only champion of this ship and I don't care! I'm mad with power and can't be stopped!

BrooklynKid314: Hey! How are you today?

GreenGoddess: Hey yourself. I’m well. Just doing some gardening.

BrooklynKid314: That’s great. My grandma used to grow truly impressive tomatoes.

GreenGoddess: lol, you should see mine

BrooklynKid314: I like tomatoes, look forward to seeing yours.

“Hold on.”

I looked up from my phone. Tony had stopped suddenly, and as I’d been focused on the little glowing screen, I’d nearly run into Nat’s back. 

“Rogers, are you seriously walking and texting? How do you even know how to text? I thought you were the cans and string type.”

I scowled back as Nat suppressed a laugh. “Look, Tony, I’m not THAT clueless. Yeah, I was texting.” The team had just finished a workout, hit the showers, and I had anxiously been scrolling through my texts, hoping for replies from Pam. I wasn’t disappointed--she was very punctual.

“Who are you even texting? I thought the only people you know outside of the retirement home were right here.” Tony crossed his arms across his chest, that annoying, smug look painted on his face. I felt a stab of self-consciousness.

“Oh, I think it’s the mysterious ‘Pam,’ Tony,” chimed in Janet, who made an attempt to stand on her tip toes to see my screen.

“Maybe you guys should lay off, give the man a little privacy? Respect?” said Hank, which made Janet snort and made me want to hug him.

“As if…” I was so focused on her, trying to keep her from seeing the screen, Tony snatched my phone.

“Yoink!” He was grinning, looking at it when I rounded on him.

“Hey, c’mon, give that back.” Uncomfortable memories of being the victim of keep away bubbling to the surface. You’d think becoming Captain America would keep that from happening.

“Holy crap, you text like a novelist--complete sentences and punctuation?”

“Seriously, Tony, give that back.” I was growing angry now. What kind of team puts a guy through…

“Look, Steve, we have to see her. You’ve been mooning over this chick for three weeks.” He started texting.

I felt a stab of horror. Tony could ruin this with one bad text, and he was right, for three weeks I’d been exchanging texts and late night calls with Pamela, who was the most amazing woman I’d ever met. Smart, confident, with a dry sense of humor and a healthy dose of sarcasm, but also socially conscious and caring. She was easy to talk to. Staying up late at night, listening to her breathy, sexy voice was...soothing.

“Tony, please, don’t…” Tony looked at me, really looked, and I saw his expression soften.

“Hey, Steve, don’t worry. I know this is important, I’m not going to be that much of a dick.” I heard him click send. We all stood there waiting, and then it made the little jingle that meant I’d received a text. Tony stared, mouth open.

“HOLY SHIT.” Without further comment, he showed it to the rest of the team, who gathered around eagerly.

BrooklynKid314: Hey, my friends dont think u exist. Selfie plz?

GreenGoddess: Sure, if you don’t mind me covered in manure :-) Incoming.

She was wearing a pair of coveralls, a big floppy sun hat, and had a trowel in her gloved free hand with her beautiful red hair in an over the shoulder braid, and she was still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her head was tilted to the side, squinting slightly and looking almost demure through her thick lashes, a slight smile on her full lips. The sun really showed how clear and flawless her skin was, highlighted her perfect cheekbones, and brought out the green of her eyes.

Nat took the phone from Tony.

“Steve, she’s perfect for you. I swear, have you gone out with her yet?”

I scratched the back of my head. “Well, no, she lives in Gotham, has a friend in the city she visits. We’ve been texting, talking on the phone at night…” I trailed off. Nat was texting. “Wait, what are you…?”

BrooklynKid314: Thnks, u look amazing in the morning sun, manure or no. How about dinner and a movie?

There was a long, horrifying pause. I was holding my breath. Heck, I think we ALL were. Then the little jingle.

GreenGoddess: Sure, I’ll fly in to see Harley this weekend. How does Friday night sound?

Janet cheered. Tony clapped me on the shoulder.

“Find out if she has a sister. Yikes.”

“Steve, you need to show her a fun time, we’ll talk about this,” Nat said.

“Yeah, and tell me ‘tomatoes’ isn’t a euphemism for something,” Tony added--Nat elbowed him in the gut.

“I...I have a date,” I said quietly, stunned.

***

When she got out of the cab, I swear I couldn’t breathe.

You need to understand, even at her worst, Pamela is stunning, but dressed for our date, casual though it may have been, she made guys--and probably most girls too--turn and stare in awe. She was wearing a simple green dress that fit loose everywhere but across her slender waist, lace stockings, and wedge heels with her beautiful red curls in a shapeless, sort of floppy, hat.

“Hey,” I said, smiling, drinking her in. She flashed a warm smile back, looked me up and down.

“Well, you clean up pretty nice, Captain Rogers.”

“Really, you think so? I mean, we said casual, but I didn’t know how casual…” I glanced down at my worn bomber jacket, jeans, tan work boots. She laughed and came closer, reaching up to finger my jacket with her slender hands.

“It works for you.” In her heels, she was almost perfectly eye level with me. I think I was staring.

Remember to breathe, Steve.

“So, what’s the plan?”

It broke the spell I was under. This close, she smelled incredible. Whatever perfume she had on was really amazing. Subtle. I think it was jasmine.

“Ok, so, I thought we’d have dinner at a little Italian place a block over, I have reservations there, and then we’d see that new space movie.”

“Oh, I love Italian, so long as they have a decent vegetarian sauce,” she tucked her arm in mine, and her heels clicked smartly as we walked. “Which movie?”

“You’ll like this place, it’s been there for 60 years--family business,” I didn’t mention I’d first visited it when it opened, the grandfather of the current owner had served me. “The one with the racoon?”

“OH,” her beautiful eyes lit up. “The one with the tree! I wanted to see that one.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back.

You’ve got it bad, Steve, I thought to myself as my heart skipped.

Antonio sat us near the back, a very dim corner lit by candlelight. I ordered a linguine in clam sauce, she ordered for herself in perfect Italian. 

“Wow, that was impressive. Your Italian is great,” I commented. She smiled. She’d selected a breadstick and was carefully tearing it into bite sized pieces with just the tips of her fingers.

“I speak six languages fluently and I’m familiar enough to communicate in with another dozen or so.” She popped a bite in her mouth and chewed. “I travel a lot for my...job.” 

“I’ve picked up a bit over the years myself, nothing like that, but I know how it is.” She smiled at me and took a drink of wine.

“Oh, I think you have stories to tell, Steve. I warn you, I have ways of getting what I want out of men. I’ll ferret out your secrets.”

“I don’t doubt that,” I said with a chuckle, trying to picture anyone who could say no to her.

The meal was excellent, and I was enjoying the conversation when we both felt it. A deep, bass noise from outside, the windows rattled, car alarms started going off. We locked gazes.

“That was a pressure wave, an explosion,” she said, and I nodded.

“I need to check it out.” I dropped my napkin and raced outside. 

The street was chaos, people running to get away from another explosion, traffic jamming up as people tried to make U turns. Police sirens.

“Wow, what is going on?” Pam was standing next to me, looking down the street. She wasn’t afraid in the slightest. Over the din, I could hear something that made me clench my jaw, my adrenaline start up.

A roar. Something, or someone, was roaring.

“Pam, I think this may be a situation beyond the cops. I need to get to my bike, please go inside and get the other customers out of harm’s way. I’ll be back.” With that, I raced to my bike. My shield.

More roars, a smattering of small arms fire--that would be the cops. Fortunately I didn’t have to fight the crowd surge trying to get away, as I was moving laterally. I yanked my saddle bag open and pulled out the shield, turned, and Pam caught up with me, running with her heels held in one hand. She stopped short, staring at it.

Crap.

Inwardly, I sighed. I’d chosen years ago to make this sacrifice. For duty. For honor. Still didn’t take the sting of losing things I wanted constantly away.

“I...will explain later, if you’re still here, Pam. I’m sorry, just know I didn’t mean to deceive you, and I understand if you’re gone when I get back. I’ve got to make sure no one is hurt, I’m sorry.” Without waiting for a reply, I raced toward the sounds.

The cops had formed a rough semicircle of cars around a bank and were firing intermittently at the Rhino, who was dragging the entire vault out of the building with the help of some hulking brute I’d never seen before. Tall, broad, pale, in tattered clothes and with flesh that looked...rotted? He looked a bit like the Hulk if he’d been dead for several months. I didn’t recognize him, but he was helping lift on the other side. 

“Cap!” the nearest cop said, a grin splitting his dusty face. “Man am I glad to see you. These guys are just laughing at us.”

“Let me handle this, Sergeant. Help me out, get everyone to safety.”

“There are still people trapped in the bank. Some of em aren’t moving. I don’t know if they’re hurt, but we can’t get rescue services in there.” 

I could see who he meant, maybe a dozen people huddled near the walls of the bank. Unmoving bodies on the floor. I assessed the situation. Rhino was dangerous alone--he’d cause immense amount of collateral damage and there was very little I could do to hurt him. The other guy was an unknown factor. The key here was to keep them distracted, tire them out, minimize casualties. I was picking out my approach when a voice said, “Who is your friend?”  
I turned to find Pam standing, her hands on her hips, one delicate brow raised in challenge.

Boy had she changed.

She was wearing what I could only describe as a corset made of...vegetation? Literally living plants. Fingerless opera length gloves of the same material, Her delicate feet were bare, but the same living plants covered her lower legs.

“I...think you may have left something out as well.” I managed, and she smirked, her full lips a green so dark they looked almost black. 

“What’s the plan here, Captain?” she emphasized the word, and I flushed.

“That’s Rhino, he’s tough. Taking him down won’t be a picnic. Priority is saving lives, protecting people. Rhino can do a lot of damage, but he usually needs room to ramp up his speed and charge. The other one I don’t recognize..”

“Solomon Grundy,” she cut in. “Big, dumb, super strong, nearly indestructible. He’s not really alive--he’s a body animated by...let’s just say mystical fungus. You can unleash on him with a clear conscience.” I nodded, and she stepped close enough I could smell her perfume. She smelled, fresh, clean. Like dew on morning grass. 

“I need…” I paused when she shot me a look. “We need to get those people to safety and try to keep these two from doing too much damage. Can you help?”

“I’ll get them to safety if you can keep Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber busy.” I grinned at her.

“Alright, let’s do this. I charged. Behind me, she followed at a more measured pace, but all around us the environment was coming alive with animated plants--vines and roots. It was uncanny. I guess she was a botanist in the same way I was a Captain in the Army.

“Tights!” roared Rhino, dropping his side of the vault and lowering his head. The other guy, Grundy, dropped his and wordlessly roared. I jumped Rhino, planted a kick in Grundy’s face, and just like that we were fully engaged. Neither of them was particularly coordinated, so I stayed between them, dodging their clumsy blows and hitting them with quick, frustrating strikes. I could see Pam had supporting the crumbling bank with a network of living roots and was pulling people out with vines, carrying them over to the cops and paramedics, who were cheering.

“Stop jumpin’ around so’s I can squish ya!” Rhino was roaring, flailing about.

“How did you even find a partner stinkier than you, Rhino?” I quipped, backflipping over him. I kicked out, and with his own momentum, sent them crashing together. 

“Funny. Yer a funny guy, Cap. Ima love seeing ya laugh once I get my…” he was interrupted when I misdirected one of Grundy’s swings, the blow sending Rhino flying. 

“Stupid man talk too much, Grundy crush!” The giant corpse roared. Up close, he smelled sour, like bread mold mixed with swamp water. His breath was rank.

Rhino started to charge. I could literally feel the ground shake as he picked up speed. I punched Grundy, keeping his attention, and waited til the last second. Diving to the side, I grinned as Rhino hit Grundy at full speed, his horns piercing through the corpse’s belly before sending him flying. Rhino shook his head.

“What’d I miss?” Pam asked, coming up beside me.

“Everyone safe?” I glanced at her. Her eyes were glowing a steady, toxic green.

“For the most part,” she replied. Grundy caught sight of her.

“Ivy,” he growled, venomously, “Grundy will rip Ivy to pieces.”

“We have history,” she said.

“I gathered.”

They came at us, and we fought back to back. Pam...no, Ivy...fought calmly, gesturing and making vines hit them from every direction, tripping them, keeping them off balance. At one point, Rhino flung a car at them and she caught it, setting it down harmlessly. 

“Captain,” she asked as Rhino was trying to pick himself up and Grundy was roaring in frustration, tearing entangling plants off. “Why are they here, what are they after?”

“The vault, I guess? What’s their exit strategy?” I narrowed my eyes. “I take it this Grundy is no thinker, and Rhino never has a plan more complex than smash and grab. These guys are both lackeys.”

“I have a feeling their getaway may have gotten away, then.”

“I agree, let’s wrap this up.”

Working together, it was over before we knew it. We used my shield to behead Grundy...his body seemed to deflate, and then, between the two of us, we kept Rhino off balance until she wrapped him up like a Christmas package in thick roots as strong as steel. The dust settled, the cops were on scene, and then the reporters…

“Captain, can we get a statement on…”

“Hey, Cap, are you and Poison Ivy now partners?”

“Ivy, are you permanently moving to New York City?”

“Cap, is Ivy joining the Avengers?”

“Cap, Ivy, are you two an item?

“Ivy, who are you wearing?”

We were trying to get out of the crowd when I felt her hand in mine, fingers entwined.

“Hey, we’re not too late for the movie.”

I grinned at her. “We could probably make it if we went like this.”

“I mean, there are thirty minutes of previews at these things now.”

We had to hurry, and she was right, the previews were rolling as we found a couple of seats.

“So, how is the date going so far?” I whispered. She shhh-ed me.

“Don’t talk during movies, Steve,” she said with a smirk, but then she flipped up the armrest and snuggled in. I put my arm around her, and then she leaned up, kissed me on the cheek.

“I’m having a great time.”


	4. All Sorts of Kissage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make out sessions tend to get interrupted when you're a living legend, symbol of the American Dream and the world's most infamous eco-terrorist possibly the most lethal woman on the planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I writing more?
> 
> I don't know, because IvyCap will RISE.

It would be a disappointment to teenage girls across the country, with their posters of him on their walls, his smiling face--cheekbones, cleft chin, twinkling blue eyes--as their phone lock screens, their Tweeter handles like @TotesCapTrash or @OMGFutureMrsCap, to know that Captain America is not a fantastic kisser.

Not from lack of ability or enthusiasm, mind you, he had those in spades (and seriously with shoulders like his--shoulders meant for digging your nails into--a guy really didn't need those things,) but from lack of experience. He really hadn't had much opportunity to learn how to really _kiss_ a girl--he was as bashful and awkward as you might imagine. Prior to the serum, he'd been a scrawny little guy and invisible to girls.

In fact, we had way more in common than you might think. He'd been changed through science, an experiment with a serum. So had I.

He'd been plain, unassuming, and invisible to the opposite sex. So had I.

Now we were symbols of causes much greater than ourselves. We were passionate and committed to those causes. Let's face it, we were both gorgeous specimens of our respective genders. Seriously, the guy was close to 0% body fat. His abs had abs. At the moment, I had him only in jeans, straddling him on the couch, and slowly teaching him how to kiss.

I'm Poison Ivy. No one, and I mean no one, is a better kisser than I. 

Some movie was on. We were at his apartment in Washington, near SHIELD headquarters, a bucket of popcorn forgotten on the coffee table and some action movie playing unnoticed on the TV. I think this is what Harley calls 'Netflix and Chill,' but don't quote me, I'm not the most fluent in current slang or internet memes. Around Steve, I purposefully suppressed my ambient pheromones as much as possible--it's important to me that his interest is actually in me, and not a chemical trick, and I'll admit one of the reasons I trusted him as much as I did is even at full strength his metabolism would chew through them quickly. I wriggled, feeling his body respond to mine, the way I was resting on top of him, pressed against him. Clad only in a thin blouse, my skirt hiked up around my hips and the tiny little scrap of lace one could only charitably refer to as 'panties,' and thigh highs, I was not playing fair, and I could feel the effect I was having, which I found greatly amusing. He was groaning.

I broke a kiss, biting his lower lip playfully. "Jesus, Pam." He groaned again, and I fought to rein in my wicked little smirk.

"Something wrong, Steve?" I asked it with false, lilting innocence, and he grinned.

"No, that's the problem." His hands--big, strong, calloused hands--were wrapped around my waist.

"You're getting better," I critiqued. "I'll have you making out like a pro before long." Idly, I ran my sharp green nails through the downy soft blonde hair on his chest. He shivered, loving it. I had him so wrapped, already, and that was the rub.

I am Poison Ivy. Bending men to my will is what I do. Usually I do it with a clear conscience, but Steve was different. I _liked_ him, genuinely. I couldn't say when the last time I legitimately liked a man was. We'd been dating for two months, and honestly, I'd started to care about him.

I end up hurting everyone around me, or they end up hurting me. I didn't want to see him hurt.

But the way he was looking up at me I knew he was falling, or had fallen, hard for me. Because of me, not because of pheromones or manipulation. And the Green help me, I was falling for him.

"I don't need to make out like a pro, I just need to make you happy," he said, and for pity's sake it would have sounded trite, cheesy, and lame from anyone else, but from him it sounded sincere and endearing, even cute.

"I think...I think we need to talk, Steve." His face fell, instantly guarded. He thought it was something bad, I could see it in his eyes--he'd been expecting me to put an end to this. "Hey," I said, and I put my hand to his cheek. He instantly, with no hesitation, leaned into my touch, "It's not bad, I shouldn't have started like that."

"Oh?" he looked relieved--seriously, the poor guy had to be terrible at Poker, every emotion he wore on his sleeve, or in this case his massive, toned bicep. "Wh-what is it then, Pam?" He leaned up on his elbows, and I realized this would be an awkward conversation, and not only because I could still feel his body where I was straddling him...he had definitely not 'settled down' yet. I crawled off him and adusted myself, folding my legs into lotus position and turning to face him. He sat up, carefully, and I think he was blushing at the effect I'd had on him.

"I like you, Steve. I like this. I'm not a huge fan of labels, but do you think it's time we thought about making this more official?"

He looked down for a moment. "I'd like nothing better. I just, I remember what you said about your relationship before and I don't know how to approach the subject with you."

I reached over and took his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. I was, and am, endlessly fascinated by the contrast--my hands are so slender, with long, elegant fingers, long, beautiful nails (part of my suite of gifts is incredibly healthy nails, hair, and skin) and his are thick and strong, calloused, working man's hands. "Again, labels aren't my thing, and I'll never be particularly interested in traditional gender roles or patriarchal relationship social mores," I paused, realizing I'd lost him with that. "What I mean to say is, I don't know if 'going steady' or 'you're my boyfriend' is exactly appropriate, but I think it's time we let people know we're a couple. We're together."

His grin told me his answer. "If you're asking me to be your boyfriend, then yes. I'll wear your letter jacket."

I laughed, genuinely, and punched him lightly in the arm--it felt like punching a rock. Jeeze. "Ok, I have something else, and before you get worried, it's a good thing."

"Ok, I'm all ears." He actually wasn't. He was all perfect cheekbones and jawline.

"I'm not like the girls you grew up with, I'm just going to be blunt. You're a virgin, aren't you, Steve?" He instantly looked uncomfortable, shifted.

"I am. I...is it a problem? I know guys today..." I hushed him with a finger to his lips. I saw him swallow his words at the touch.

"It's not. It's just a state of being. You've put no pressure on me for sex, which I appreciate. I just want to ask, are you interested? Some people aren't, and that's perfectly fine and valid."

"Am I...? Well, yes, couldn't you tell?" It was so honest I laughed again.

"You know, it might have come up earlier." He blushed, and impulsively I leaned in and kissed him again. "Ok, well, I'm a very sexually liberal person. I would consider it an honor to be your first, if that's what you'd like. We could plan a trip or something, go away together for a weekend? No Avengers, no Sirens, just Steve and Pam?"

"Yes, I'd...I'd, uhm, like that. I have a cabin in upstate New York. It's pretty lonely, still getting snow, but very cozy."

"In the middle of the forest? You know me pretty well." He smiled, and then he met me halfway for more kissing.

***

Once she left, one last goodbye kiss that tasted like honey, I don't know how long I stood there, trying not to shake. She affected me so strongly, like no one I'd ever met before. I looked around my apartment, noting the changes already.

When she'd first visited me, she'd exclaimed, "Oh my Goddess, you are such a _bachelor_." Over the last few weeks, little feminine touches had started showing up. Flowers. Houseplants. Decorations.

One of drawers was full of some spare clothes. One of her coats was in my closet. She'd left a spare toothbrush and some makeup on my bathroom counter. I didn't touch any of it, because having it there reminded me of _her_ and even though I knew how silly that made me, it also made me happy.

I flopped on the couch, loving how the cushion now smelled like her hair, and was about to flick through some channels on the TV when I felt a breeze. That finely honed instinct--the one I'd developed over the course of years of being a soldier, being in war--made me shoot up.

I was no longer alone.

He stood in the corner, a tall, dark figure that seemed blacker than the shadows he was standing in. He was rising to full height, having just slipped through my open window. His eyes glowed demonically.

"Steve Rogers," he boomed, his voice deep and modulated--not unlike Tony's when he was in the Iron Man suit.

I knew who he was even before I saw the symbol on his armored chest. A bat symbol. All of this was an affectation--meant to scare criminals.

I'm no criminal, I'm Captain America, and he was in my home. I stood and cracked my neck.

"We need to talk," the Batman said.

 

Next: Batman vs. Captain America!


	5. Throw Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A good old fashioned slobber-knocker.
> 
> Poison Ivy loves it when boys fight over her.

"Steve Rogers." I paused as he stood. I'd never met the man, but I'd done the due diligence. Studied him. Devised a dozen ways this meeting might go. He wasn't quite as tall I'd expected, a few inches shorter than me, but broader. He was clad only in a pair of jeans, hair tousled, traces of green lipstick on his neck. I saw him crack said neck, his eyes narrow. "We need to talk."

In hindsight, It was the wrong approach. In close confines I had nowhere to go but back out the window, the one I'd just come through. He was on me in an instant, and suddenly I was through the glass and freefalling. His wasn't a tall building and it was blind reflex that had me catching my fall with the magnetic grapple, swinging up to the next building, catching on with one hand and feeling my weight wrench my shoulder violently before I was pulling myself up.

He leapt the gap, that iconic shield gripped in his hand, and landed on the building's roof with me in a graceful roll. He stood in a single fluid motion, and began to circle to his left, my right.

"I didn't come here to fight," I started.

"Then you shouldn't have broken into my home without an invitation, son," he shot back.

I chose to ignore that. "I came to warn you about Poison Ivy."

"You mean Pam."

"Yes, 'Pam' is an infamous costumed supervillain, a terrorist. She--" He cut me off with a curt hand motion.

"You're forgetting that simple word, 'allegedly.'"

"I've seen the results of her actions, Rogers. There is no 'allegedly' here, she has blood on her hands."

"So do I. I was in a war. Do you honestly think she hasn't been vetted? I have SHIELD clearance. She's a person of interest in a few open cases, but nothing substantial has ever been made to stick, and do you know why?"

"I assume you're going somewhere with this, so enlighten me."

"Because unsanctioned illegal vigilantes can't provide evidence for any real court case. That chain of custody is laughable. We tend to ignore you because frankly, that cesspool you call a city is beyond help, but you leave Gotham and show up in my town and try to lecture me about my girlfriend being bad?" He squared up, and I tensed. "She's been here all night, and the worse thing she did was hog the blanket during our movie. You on the other hand, broke the law. Now son, you need to hop back on your illegal fighter jet--yeah, Wayne, we know about that too--and take your keister back to Gotham. Leave. Pam. Alone."

He knew my identity. I wasn't totally surprised--I knew SHIELD worked with Waller on occasion, and if ARGUS knew...

"You've done your homework. You have to know she's a killer, Rogers. An ustable one with a history of mental illness that..."

"Yeah, about that. You have a history of bullying and abusing her and then tossing her into that hole you call an asylum. For that alone, I oughtta teach you a lesson. I've met crazy. I've fought crazy. Pam isn't crazy, so what does that make what you do to her?"

"Then you're a fool, and I'm wasting my time. She's a manipulator, Rogers, and you're a dupe. She has an angle, and wrapping you around her finger is part of whatever play she's making."

"If she's playing me, I'll enjoy the ride. I'm through talking. Go back to Gotham, Wayne. You're not welcome here."

"Oh, I'll leave, Rogers, but I think I'll collect Ivy while I'm..." He wasn't kidding when he said he was done talking. He pounced, going from perfectly still to full-tilt action in a split second. It took every bit of my skill to keep from going down in his first combo. Rogers is the total package. Strong, fast, skilled, tireless, durable--he has no weaknesses. Rogers works on instinct, his body reacting faster than any muscle memory from training has a hope of keeping up with. His fighting style is similar to Cassandra's--transcending any single martial art. I know dozens, he only needs the one, and it works with his enhanced physical prowess. 

He's fast. No wasted motion. He reminded me of Selina, the way he slipped past my defensive strikes, but unlike her, when he caught me in the side, it was like getting hit by a truck. I've taken a full punch from Bane and it was a similar level of force. The armor absorbed it, and I rolled, but I think I felt a rib crack anyway. He put me on the defensive right away--not the best place for me--and I knew I had to get some distance, find a breather, reassess.

My tools are the advantage. I hit him in the face with a burst of concentrated CS gas. It was enough to make him pause, and I was able to land a solid right to his face--it felt like punching a wall--and then kicked him in the gut, sending back away from me. I knew I needed to end this quickly, so I flung four sticky bombs at him, trusting the serum to keep him from being hurt too badly, but he was already shrugging off the gas--his metabolism was incredible, and got his shield up. I was already moving, a grapple pulling me to the taller roof of the next building. I needed the shadows, hit him with surprise. The bombs went off with several loud booms, but that shield absorbed the force and Rogers was already in pursuit. Swinging on a line, I flung several batarangs, hoping to slow him, distract him.

He leaped forward, through the pattern, and sent his shield spinning my direction. I saw it going high, knew where it was headed, and let go of my line before it was snapped--landing in a roll. I felt slow in the armor next to him, the cape weighed too much. He was on me almost instantly, but I managed to fire a taser into him. Enough voltage to drop Croc, and to my relief, he roared in pain, his body going stiff for a few seconds, but he reached up and yanked them out.

Ok, I'd hoped that would end this. I wasn't done, and as he closed in, grimly, I charged the sonic blast in my right gauntlet. It was a one shot, but it hit hard--Cyborg Tech. I was aiming it when I felt a heavy blow to the back of my head.

That goddamned shield.

Then he was on me. His first blow was to the body, and I felt the wind knocked out. A second to the head. I rolled, but it was still enough to crush the right side of my cowl and my HUD went dark with several sparks and pops as the onboard conputer was destroyed. I managed to block his first kick, then a second, but when I fired the sonic, it missed. He'd moved around to my now blind side. 

He yanked me off my feet with the cape, flipped it over my head, leaving me blind, and began to pummel me. I could feel the blows raining down, but couldn't see them. Felt him crack the back of my head several times, and I realized at that point he was pulling his punches. He could have beaten me to death. It was a sobering thought.

"Ok, that's enough." Ivy's voice rang out.

"Pam," he said. I could hear it was defensive.

"Let him up, Steve," her deep voice was calm, and I felt the other man's weight lifted. I lay there, catching my breath, still seeing stars from that blow to the head. I hoped I wasn't in for another MRI. She used one heeled foot to flip me over on my back. Rogers had his arms crossed over his chest, still angry. She looked slightly bemused, her lips pursed. She was gorgeous.

"Why are you here, Batman?"

I sat up, my head felt like a split open melon. "Been watching you, making sure you're not up to your own tricks, and I tried to warm him about you."

"Why? He works for the world's biggest spy agency, I'm sure he knows all about my past, Batman." 

"He's done his homework," I agreed. Rose to my feet. 

He seemed, hesitant. "Pam, I want you to know it wasn't meant as an invasion of privacy, I just..." She shushed him with a fingertip to his lips. Their body language...I'd only seen her that comfortable with Selina. Harley. It was disquieting.

"Steve, it's alright. I expected nothing less. You know I've done bad things. My past is checkered, and he's not wrong. I've killed..."

I interrupted. "I tried. When she turns on you, Rogers, you have only yourself to blame. I'm going back to Gotham."

"Don't come back," he answered. 

"Batman," Ivy said, and I turned back to her. "I know you can't let things go. This is real, and I want this. Please don't ruin it for me." I almost believed her. 

"I won't get in the way again, Ivy." I looked at Rogers. "Good luck." I turned to leave.

"So that's a founding member of their Justice League? Explains a lot," I heard him say, and then, "You know, every member of my team, including me, has done things we're not proud of. We're not like them, we're about second chances. Have you ever thought about being an Avenger?"


	6. Assemble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbecue time. Would Pam consider being a hero?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivy punching Nazis just seems entirely appropriate to me.
> 
> I'm not a Marvel reader, normally. Hydra Cap makes me legit nauseous. I kinda picked and chose Avengers characters I like, and since this whole thing is a bit murky with timeline, I ran with it. C'est la vie!
> 
> By the way, the news is that Ivy and Selina might be joining the Birds of Prey book, not just guesting...so fingers crossed!

“So you’re not exaggerating, these guys are literal, actual Nazis?” Ivy was asking as vines were tossing Hydra soldiers left and right, their bodies flying like rag dolls to smack against the walls of bunker before sinking bonelessly to the floor.

Nearby, Natasha had leapt on the big bruiser, her legs wrapped around his face, and hit him with several quick strikes to the eyes, she backflipped off, gracefully landed, and then fired widow stings into his gut. He crashed to the ground. “Yeah, they’re called Hydra--started as a deep science division within the Nazis, now they’re kinda separate, but not really, still fascist assholes.

“You ladies wanna cut the history lesson short and fight more?” Tony asked, hovering, firing repulsors into the giant bipedal walker mech that was ramping up the 6 barreled miniguns on it’s ‘arms.’

“Men--” Ivy said.

“--They never seem to get--,” continued Nat.

“--That we can multitask.” Ivy finished. As the mech stepped forward, vines wrapped around its legs, squeezing them in.

“Friend Tony, I believe thou might hath...how dost one say...bitten off more than thou canst chew.” Thor's voice was deep, and he rumbled with laughter. Mjolnir flew through the air with a scream, crunching into the front of the mech. It tried to step backward for balance, couldn’t, and then I bull-rushed it from behind. It landed with a boom.

“Yeah, Tony, I think you’re outnumbered,” I said with a grin, ripping off the cockpit glass and flinging the hapless Hydra pilot out. He landed and was immediately tackled by Ivy’s two bodyguards--Hydra soldiers who’d been subjected to her mind-bending kiss. They dragged him over to her, where she brushed her lips softly over his. Almost instantly, his expression grew slack with love, and he turned to defend her. It was still amazing to me, as many times as I’ve kissed her, that she can do so much with it.

“By two gorgeous redheads? Hashtag challenge accepted!” 

“Try not to mind him, he’s a pig.” Nat said, landing next to Ivy, who shrugged.

“He follows through with that three hundred million investment in Green energy he promised, he can oink all he likes.” Nat grinned, Tony laughed, and Thor rolled a massive shoulder.

“Ok, I think I’m in love, guys can we keep her?” Nat said, and Ivy smirked.

“Lady Ivy hath my vote. Mayhaps there are more? This fight, so far, is but a tedium," Thor answered.

Right then, a huge blast door began to open, and ...things...began to pour out. Superficially they were built like Gorillas, but hairless, with razor sharp hook hands and beaks like a birds of prey.

“You just had to say that...did you have to say that?” Tony grumbled.

Thor was grinning. “Ah, doubtless horrors from some hellish realm. They shalt feel mine wrath…”

I glanced at Ivy, who seemed unmoved. “One of Hydra’s big players, Arnim Zola, was a genetic engineer. Famous for making monsters like this."

Over the comms, Pym spoke up. He wasn’t present but was overseeing from the mansion. “He was decades ahead of his time, we’ve faced several of creations in the past.

The creatures hooted and began to charge forward as the regular soldiers who were still taking pot shots began to flee, clearly terrified of them.

“Looks like the peanut gallery wants no part of them,” remarked Nat. I took a stance, looking for a strategy. They were animals--no organization, just a random, ragged charge.

“Genetically spliced hybrids, sloppy work. Hank, I think the main baseline is _Gorilla gorilla_ , but splicing those ridiculous claws on made them clumsy and slow. They’re supposed to be knuckle walkers.”

Pym replied, “I think you’re right, Dr. Isley. Tony, tilt your head left, pan across them so I can get a better look, please.”

Tony complied. “I’ve been demoted to cameraman?”

I spoke up. “Let’s make the terrain more of a challenge. Thor, how about a rain slick?”

The big Asgardian nodded. “Aye, let Mjolnir show these trolls what power be!”

A rumble of thunder sounded overhead, and vines began to peel the metal roof of the bunker back, allowing pelting rain and sleet to coat the floors where the charging things were running. Instantly, the beasts began to slip and slide.

“I’m half tempted to let Grodd know where this Zola is...using his kin as experiment subjects has a tendency to seriously piss him off,” Ivy muttered, coming to stand next to me. As Thor launched a bolt of lightning into the soaked monsters, briefly she let her fingers twine in mine. I glanced at her, and found her smiling at me. I think my heart literally skipped.

I had it bad.

The fight kept going, but most of the soldiers were trying to escape now. Unfortunately, the secret Hydra base was in a jungle, and the treeline was not their friends. Altogether we rounded up north of sixty of them--wrapped in vines and roots, waiting for us. We found a lab, and for two solid hours Ivy walked up and down with Tony’s camera, talking to Pym about what she was finding. I was going through papers when Nat sidled up to me, speaking in a low voice.

“Jesus, Steve, where’s she been all our lives?”

“She’s considered a villain in Gotham,” I commented.

“Their loss, she’s amazing. You taking her to the barbecue this weekend?”

I grinned down at her. “Heck yeah, she’s already planning to make a potato salad that she swears will make us weep.”

***

Her potato salad was seriously awesome. 

Avengers barbecues were a bit of a tradition, and so there were more than a dozen of us there that afternoon. I was on grill duties (smelling the meat cooking made Pam wrinkle her nose and tell me it was gross--and the way she wrinkled her nose was adorable and sexy.) I was trying not to laugh at the younger crowd--the boys were all staring--I think Miles was actually drooling--and Kamala hadn’t yet worked up the courage to talk to her yet--she just sort of clammed up and managed a ‘hi’ when Pam was introduced (I found out later apparently Pam has massive amounts of ‘fanfics’ written about her, some of which Kamala’d written herself.)

I caught her eye from across the yard, where she was lounging on a chair and talking to Bruce and Hank, and she smiled at me. I had to admire the way she never seemed to be daunted by anything. The prospect of facing a whole group of strangers--all of whom happened to be superheroes--did nothing to her. 

Tigra stopped to let me know that she wanted her steak as rare as possible. “Seriously, Steve, just pop that on there long enough to get it warm and I’m good,” and I directed my attention back to my job. Once done serving, I went over to where Pam was sitting. Janet had joined them, and was interjecting questions about what fashion was ‘in’ over in Gotham to break up--as she called it-- ‘the nerds trying to absorb as much cool fallout from Poison Ivy’s level of cool they could.’

I sat on the lounge next to her and offered a solo cup of iced tea and her veggie plate, which she took with a smile. She was wearing a simple, green top with spaghetti straps, a big floppy hat, and sunglasses. With the sun shining, her skin had taken on a green sheen, dark green swirls on it that created interesting patterns all over her body.

“So when you interupt the cellular mitosis of the--” Bruce was saying, and I was kicking my legs up when I felt my lounge move. The grass underneath me scooting me closer, and she twined her fingers in mine. I squeezed her hand back.

“I hope you know, you’re brushing your teeth before I kiss you again. All that animal grease. Yuck.” She stuck her tongue out at me. I swallowed the bite of burger before answering.

“It’s a deal. Oral hygiene is important.”

Tony sat down, catching Bruce’s eye, and then clearing his throat. “Pamela, your help was invaluable the other day. You’re brilliant and powerful.”

She arched a perfect brow. “Uhm, thanks?”

“I know you live in Gotham, but we’ve been talking. We’d like you to consider being a member of the Avengers.”

She stared at him. I squeezed her hand and she glanced at me before answering. “I..don’t know what to say. You’re aware of my past?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Very few of us here have clean records, Pam. Trust me. If we’re about anything, it’s second chances.”

“Seriously, Dr. Isley, you would be an asset in every way. Even if you can’t commit to full time, you should consider at least an alternate membership,” said Hank.

“God knows we need more girls, Pam,” said Janet, and Jen and Nat both chimed in, agreeing.

“I just, I can’t imagine the Justice League ever offering anything like this to me.” Pam said, looking at me for confirmation.

“Screw em, they’re stuck up jerks,” Tigra purred as she licked her claws clean.

“Alright, well, I’m flattered. Let me think about it? Regardless, I’m happy to consult or chip in if you need me.” She looked at me. “I don’t think I’m going to be a stranger, at any rate.”

There was a chorus of encouragement. We were left to our own devices, and fell into a companionable silence as we ate.

“I think I might accept their offer. Are you ok with a workplace romance, Steve?” She smirked.

“Are you kidding. I love the idea of seeing you every day.” She smiled at that.

“One other thing,” she murmured. I glanced at her. “I think it’s time you met my friends.”

 

Next: Cap Meets the Sirens!


	7. Heaven is in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets Ivy's best girlfriends.
> 
> Expecting awkwardness (it's not often you meet your new girlfriend's besties when they are all romantically together) he finds himself welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of ideas, I never expected to do so much, but it's out of my hands now, it's taken on a life of its own. Crossovers are fun.

_Heaven,_ I reflected, _can be found in the simplest things._

At the moment, it was here and now. I was kicked back on an old sofa, threadbare and worn, but comfy with extra blankets--thick fleece ones that smelled like fresh flowers. There was a cold beer on the side table within reach, on a coaster--Pam always insisted on coasters. “We’re not animals or savages, Steve.” My socked feet were propped up on the girls’ coffee table--Pam also insisted on no shoes inside...she had a legitimate shoe tree and a coat rack next to the door of the small, but cozy, little apartment, where my boots were hung next to a pair of black pumps, sneakers covered over in sharpie drawings and writing (stuff like H+I 4EVA, and I<3Red,) and Pam’s own knee high wedge-heeled boots. She was nestled in the crook of my arm, head resting on my shoulder and her thick, silky curls tumbling down, covering us. Her arm was under my SHIELD tee shirt, hand lightly caressing my stomach as we watched the movie. It was warm and soft and really distracting…

I’d honestly thought this would be awkward. I’d been nervous all week. It’s not everyday you meet your girlfriend’s, uhm, girlfriends. 

I almost texted her back when I found the address, making sure I had it right. Gotham wasn’t a clean or pleasant city, and the East End was the worst of it. Crumbling, run down tenements lined the narrow streets, and their building was pretty nondescript. The outside was covered in rusted old fire escapes that looked more dangerous than an actual fire, and inside the wallpaper was peeling and there were floor tiles missing in the hall--signs of general neglect by the building owners. Pam had warned me not to use the elevator--apparently it tended to get stuck--so I climbed the four flights of stairs and found their door.

I was met by Harley Quinn.

I’d heard a lot about her. Harley was the friend Pam was getting drinks for the first day I’d met her. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but she threw open the door and pounced on me, hugging me fiercely and chattering so fast I’d barely been able to keep up. She reminded me so much of little Peter Parker it was scary...but...that accent was comforting. I’d seen pictures on Pam’s phone, heard the description. I’d even seen some of her information in SHIELD materials--all the girls had a colorful record--but the actual girl was something else in person.

She was a petite thing, shorter than Pam, and slimmer, especially across the hips and bust, but she was built solidly. She was wearing a tank top with some cartoon girl on it--one of those Japanese cartoons that were so popular now--and it bared her well-muscled shoulders and arms. This girl was an athlete. She was wearing sweat pants and her feet were in mismatched socks, her blonde pigtails dyed in mismatched colors--red and blue. She had an impish face--big, blue eyes and a big grin, a smile that was catching...made you want to smile back.

She was tugging me inside and pulling at my jacket right away.

“Oh em gee, I gotta bomba jacket like this too! Come in outta the cold, ya dope. Also take off ya boots, hang em onna thingie. Pammie will have a meltdown if ya walk onner carpet with shoes on! Make yaself at home...ya wanna drink or somethin’?”

Their place was comfortable and lived in, their personalities reflected. Part of it was neat, clean, and orderly, covered over in dozens of plants--hanging, potted, etc--there was an aloe plant by the door, and a massive fern in the corner. That was Pam, I knew right away. 

There were plush toys and video games scattered here and there. Brightly colored art on the walls. Comic books. Those would be Harley’s things. She seemed like the type to be cluttery.

Cat furniture was everywhere, and so were cats. I knew Selina Kyle, Catwoman, had a thing for cats. Pam told me she took in strays--she’d spend her last dime on litter and the best cat food money could buy while eating Ramen herself.

As soon as I stepped inside, three cats immediately came to investigate me, meowing insistently and trying to rub on my legs. Harley quickly shrieked, “Hey, make sure ya shut the door. Inanna’s in heat, if she gets out she’s gettin’ ‘er eyeballs banged out and Kitty’ll make ya have ta find the kittens homes. It ain’t as easy as ya think!” Inanna, a pretty little calico, did make a rush for the open door but I scooped her up and she meowed indignantly at me as I closed it. Harley started on the locks and shoed me out of the way, before yelling “He’s HEEEEEEERE!”

The interior of their place was dimly lit. The living room had a big couch, a recliner (where a sleek, black, older cat was sleeping through all the commotion,) a coffee table, a couple of book cases, and an entertainment center with a Gamestation paused on the screen of their big TV. There were doors to bedrooms leading off of that main hall, closed, and an open doorway with a beaded curtain leading to what had to be the kitchen. Something wonderfully hot and spicy was filling the apartment with a smell that made my stomach roar, and Pam looked out, smiled, and quickly crossed over to me, giving me a quick kiss.

“I’m glad you found it, sweetness. I know the East End can be...confusing.”

“Your directions are always perfect, honey,” I said, and she took the bottle of wine from me. Harley was bouncing next to her, a huge grin on her face.

“I see you’ve met Harley?” Pam said, a smirk playing on her full lips.

“Well, not formally.”

Unable to restrain herself, Harley stuck her hand out, which I shook, and she announced, “Harley Quinn, pleased ta meetcha!”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Harley. I’m Steve.” I said, and suddenly she squealed again.

“I KNOW. You’re CAPTAIN AMERICA. Omigod, wait here,” and she suddenly streaked off. Pam watched her fondly. She burst into one of the bedrooms and came back a moment later with one of those plush Avengers toys of me. “Here, see? I’m a big fan! Love alla ya guys, ‘specially Cap!” She held it out, then suddenly snatched it back. “Kay, there’s some lipstick onnit. There may’ve been kissin’. Kay, there was kissin’.” She smiled sheepishly.

“Well, I could kiss him just for taking Batman down a notch. There are many people who need a good ass kicking, and he tops the list.”

Selina Kyle was a beautiful woman, would easily be the most beautiful woman in the room if she wasn’t in a room with Pam, and honestly, she was just as gorgeous in her own way. She was sleek and dark next to Pam’s curves and color, short dark hair, long legs, beautiful darker complexion--Latina maybe--with full, sensual lips and catlike green eyes. She had a way of moving that told me she was a talented dancer or martial artist--body control and grace that was a joy to watch. She put her arm around Pam and smiled at me. She had a warm, engaging smile--a natural flirty air that was in stark contrast to Pam’s typical ice queen vibe. 

They were comfortable together, Ivy rolling her eyes at her. “Selina, I thought Inanna was the one in heat.”

“Oh, mreowr, the claws are out,” Selina replied with a laugh, and then she offered me her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Rogers. I’m Selina.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Kyle. I’ve heard a lot about you.” I shook her hand, and she smirked at me.

“All good I hope?”

“No, not exactly. Some of it was your rap sheet.” She laughed.

“Oh, most of it is lies and slander. I promise.” I smiled at her, liking her already. She reminded me a little of Nat. “I can’t tell you how excited we are to finally meet you. She’s been sneaking texts to you for months...you need to understand she used to hate her phone. She’d leave it plugged in all day while working in her lab.”

Changing the subject, Pam said, “Are you hungry? The stew is almost ready.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, “And you two leave him alone.”

Selina leaned in, “Seriously, you’ve made her happier than I’ve seen her in a long time…”

“...yeah, she’s usually so...mad. Bout everything. She smiles when ya text her.”

“As far as we’re concerned, you’re now an honorary Siren. You’re family.”

I smiled, rubbed the back of my neck. “She’s amazing. I’m so glad I met her.”

“Yeah, I can tell yer already a little in love with her.” I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. “Nah, it’s ok. Everybody who gets ta know her falls in love with her. It’s just, most people, ‘specially guys, don’t look past the surface, cuz she’s sexy as fuuuu--uuudge,” Harley corrected herself mid word.

“I’m going to grab you a beer, Steve. Make yourself at home.” Selina strutted off, leaving me with Harley.

“Say, Cap. Mistah World War 2 guy...Have ya evah played Call of Honor 4: Punchin’ Nazis Inna Face?”

***

I’d honestly forgotten what movie we were watching. 

Pam was snuggled close, my side warm from her body, and Harley was laying in the floor, her head pillowed on Pam’s legs where they were curled inward. Selina was sprawled on the couch, her head lying on Pam’s back.

The girls were hilarious and warm, caring. I spent the whole evening guzzling water to cool my tongue from Pam’s spicy Cajun style vegetable stew (seriously she seemed to be unphased by the hottest food) and laughing at Harley’s jokes or Selina’s sarcasm. In fact, I spent the whole evening thinking about how perfect they were for the Avengers.

All of them had pasts, but none of them were inherently bad. I believe in second chances. I believe, given the chance, all three could be heroes.

Those were the thoughts going through my head, when Harley’s phone buzzed and I saw her grin die as she looked at it. Instantly, I felt the mood shift. Selina sat up, eyes narrowing, and I felt Pam tense next to me as Harley grimly tapped out a reply.

“Sweetpea?” Pam’s voice sounded strained.

“He wants me ta meet ‘im. Gave me the address.” Harley’s voice was subdued. I’d known her for all of an evening, and even I could sense the change. I glanced at Pam and had to suppress a shudder.

I’d seen Pam fighting, I’d seen her venting righteous anger, but right now, in those beautiful green eyes, I saw hate. I saw murder.

I was reminded that the beautiful, funny, brilliant, sexy woman I’d come to know was also Poison Ivy.

Harley excused herself to go the bathroom, she was anxious, tears in her eyes, leaving her phone lying on the cushion.

“Pamela, what’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, sweetness.” She smiled sadly at me and pecked me on the corner of the mouth. “Harley’s ex must be out of Arkham. She’ll head over before the night’s over…”

“And we’ll worry for the next few weeks if the next time we see her will be in a hospital or identifying her at the morgue,” Selina finished. Sharply.

“Her ex. You mean that clown? The Joker.” Pam nodded. Harley was a pretty girl, and in that tank top you could see much of her beautifully sculpted skin--including a long, thin scar, white against her darker flesh, running the length of her back. One of many. Too many. In fact, that scar was one too many.

I’m a good reader and a quick study. Reading the text upside down was child’s play. I had the address.

I stood up. “Hey, I’m going to run to the store for some more booze. Sounds like we could use something stronger than beer, right?” My voice was light, and Selina smiled at me, eyes sparking with mischief. 

“Oh, Captain Rogers daahling, I think some Tequila would be wonderful.”

Pam watched me with narrowed eyes. Then, slowly, her full lips curled up into a smile, and I knew I’d do anything to see that look on her face--affection and...approval. “Don’t be too long Steve. I’ll have a bubble bath ready for us.” 

She knew.

***

The address was easy to find.

I went in hard. His thugs were nothing. The real muscle worked for the mob, for the guys who paid well and weren’t apt to murder their guys on a whim. Cobblepot or Sionis would have been a different story. These guys were either small time, weak, or dumb. Pedophiles, rapists.

Bullies.

Just like their boss.

I took my time with him, knocking his clumsy attacks aside and hitting back. I didn’t pull my punches. I felt his ribs breaking, saw him spitting teeth. Every time I hit him, I thought about that scar on Harley’s back. About the things Pam had whispered to me on the phone late at night. About the pain in her voice when she talked about what he did to Harley. 

I zip tied the little coward, trussed like a pig, just in time for the Gotham City Police Department to arrive. I stayed long enough to sign some autographs and shake their police commissioner's hand, a man named Gordon. I liked him.

By the time I got back, the news had beaten me home. The girls were clustered on the couch watching Vicki Vale’s live report at the scene, GCPD marching the broken remnants of Joker’s gang into cars for transport. Selina answered the door, her face unreadable but for the faintest of smirks on her full lips. “I think you forgot the booze, Steve.”

“I might have gotten a little sidetracked.”

Harley approached me, her eyes puffy. I don’t know what I expected. Shouts? Anger? Maybe getting slapped?

She said nothing, just bear-hugged me.

Then Pam was kissing me, she put her lips to my ear.

“I love you.”

I couldn’t stop the grin on my face as I kissed her back.

Interlude One

The situation room was quiet as Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, leaned back in his chair. He was in a foul mood, having just received reports that Captain America was beating up costumed villains in Gotham City, cesspool of the East Coast.

It helped his mood that Amanda Waller, director of ARGUS, looked almost as angry as he felt. The short, stocky woman had her arms crossed over her chest and was scowling at him from across the table--in front of her an open manila folder. There was a stack of surveillance photos of Steve Rogers and this Pamela Isley, Poison Ivy, holding hands and walking Gotham’s Boardwalk with known associates Selina Kyle, Catwoman, and Harleen Quinzel, Harley Quinn.

“Look, Amanda. You see my concern here. Captain America is a symbol, leader of the Avengers Initiative...he’s a hero to this country in a way that group of aliens and gods in the Justice League will never be. He’s a local boy done good, a leader in the last popular war. He fought the Nazis. We can’t have him making out in public with a known eco-terrorist and mass murderer like Poison Ivy.” Fury held up a glossy print of Rogers, shirtless, in swim trunks on the beach, leaning in for a kiss with a string bikini clad Poison Ivy, who was casually sweeping her hair to the side. It was candid, personal, and he knew he could probably make big money selling it to the tabloids, if that’s what he wanted. He tossed it to her.

“I understand that, Nick, but again, I’m not sure what you want me to do about it.” She sneered at the picture and placed it on a stack with the others.

“This Ivy is one of yours. Leverage the crazy woman to steer clear of Cap.” He paused as Waller chuckled, darkly.

“Nick, I didn’t know you had jokes.”

“Do I look like I’m joking to you?

“No one leverages Poison Ivy to do anything. She’s not one of mine, Fury. Our tech boys don’t think we even COULD successfully plant a bomb in her body the way we do with other members of Task Force X. Her blood is so acidic and corrosive no nanite would last more than a few minutes.” She leaned forward. “You need to understand, Ivy is a walking, talking, living weapon of mass destruction. She’s probably the most lethal woman on the planet.” She leaned back, steepling her fingers. “Why do you think Harley Quinn is on the team? She’s a loose cannon, barely controllable, but brings very little to the table that isn’t covered by Deadshot or Katana.”

“Amanda, I stay in my lane. I don’t give much thought to your little pack of scum at all.”

She chuckled darkly again. “I can’t always tell when you’re lying, Fury, but when you try to claim you don’t care to know something, I know it’s bullshit by default..”

He allowed himself to grin. “Alright, touche. Honestly, I thought it was because she’s easy to direct. Point her at something, let the chaos ensue. That group ain’t exactly subtle.”

“Partially, but Harley represents a one use bit of leverage over Poison Ivy, or even Catwoman. One use, Nick. Playing that card would mean trying to terminate those two...Selina Kyle is the best thief in the world. She hasn’t met a security system she couldn’t crack, and in terms of sheer destructive power, Ivy ranks up there with Doomsday or Juggernaut. She could level DC to get to us if she was motivated.”

“And you’re not willing to play that card for this?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, not yet. I agree with you, though, we don’t need Captain America redeeming perfectly usable rogues like Ivy or Catwoman. And we definitely don’t need Cap finding out about Task Force X through Harley.”

He nodded grimly. “No, that would be a worse case scenario.”

Waller cocked her head. “Now, on the other hand, maybe there’s another way.”

“I don’t like that look, Amanda.”

“Look, their thing is new. Relationships usually die because of a lack of trust. I have an idea…”

Interlude 2

The servant was afraid.

Telling the master that a mission had failed was never fun, but someone had to. He was trying to not to tremble as he entered the throne room and knelt.

“What is it?” the heavily modulated voice rumbled, sounding like thunder in the cavernous, dark space.

“My Lord, the two agents have failed. Solomon Grundy and the Rhino did not acquire the formula from the bank vault, and we know it is once again being moved. We believe Hydra may be involved now, or perhaps AIM.”

“I know this.” The reply was simple. He knew?

“My Lord, how shall we proceed?”

“Signal the second strike team. They are far more sophisticated than those two brutes. It is not yet time for us to become involved directly.”

Victor von Doom, King of Latveria, and the Master of everything his poor servant knew, stood, casting his hand out, cloak billowing over his unstoppable armor.

“Make no mistake. Doom will have that formula, and if Captain America and this Poison Ivy stand in the way, they will be crushed, as are all who oppose us.”

The servant fled the chamber.


	8. Memorial Day Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick interlude for Memorial Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a safe and happy memorial day. <3

I’m used to doing it alone.

I’d get up just before dawn...not really unlike my normal routine, but instead of going on a run, doing PT, I’d check and double check the dress blues--stiff, starched, set up properly according to standard, shoes at a high shine.

Shower and shave, get dressed, and head to the cemetery. 

I may be Captain America, super hero, leader of the Avengers, but I was a Captain in the United States Army first. That’s the way I think of myself: as a soldier.

I’m no orator, but I’d give a speech. Shake hands with old vets who saw the same action I did, fewer and fewer each year, their uniforms too tight around the middle and smelling of mothballs.

I’d stand. I’d salute. I’d visit the sites of guys I knew, guys gone way too soon. Kowalski. Handry. Miller. Hallet.

For most, it’s an excuse to barbecue, spend time with family, toss back a few beers and maybe toss around the football a bit. And you know what?

Good. That’s what we fought for. That’s what they sacrificed for. Oh, it’s a sad day, a proud day, and a humble day, but ultimately, that’s why we did what we did.

I knew she was the one, because she got it. Gets it.

Pam understands death better than anyone I know, but what clues me in I’ve met someone special, that she’s the one, is the fact she understands life, too. LIfe and Death.

She was with me for the first time when I really got it. I stood. Saluted while Taps played. She was a warm, solid, strong presence next to me. In a way, it was sort of surreal, me, surrounded by old soldiers, some of whom we wouldn’t be seeing next year, and then there was Pam--gorgeous, sexy, ridiculously beautiful Pamela with her blood red hair in a loose braid and the sun shining on her perfect skin.

When I first met her, I thought of her as what we fought for. She was the kind of girl we painted on the noses of bombers. A bombshell--she defined that word. A pinup girl--all good looks and dangerous curves. She was the kind of girl you kept a picture of in your mess kit, but I’ve come to realize she’s far more than that.

Pam is a soldier too.

She’s a warrior, fighting a war only she can see. A lone voice screaming into the din of the rabble, trying to make people understand. I get that now. I think that’s ultimately what makes her perfect for me, because honestly, on paper, the activist bad girl and the goody-two-shoes soldier shouldn’t work, but we do. We both believe in doing the right thing, no matter the cost to ourselves, no matter how many people tell us we’re wrong.

She’s not a super hero, or a villain for that matter. She’s a soldier, like I am.

I finished my salute, was still standing when I felt her twine her long, elegant fingers in mine. Her hands are soft, but strong, feminine and powerful. I looked down at her, and she looked up at me. Her eyes are so green, they’re luminous.

“You ok?”

“I am.”

She was so patient, attending the ceremonies and the parades with me. After the last speech, as the old timers were slowly making their way back on their canes, their walkers, their wheelchairs, she paused and looked back at the long, seemingly endless rows of white tombstones, each one a name, a life, given in service to a cause greater than themselves.

We both understand that.

I saw her blow a kiss back over her shoulder, toward the field.

Now, I’ve been in the presence of power. I’ve felt the crackle and smelled the ozone of the God of Thunder, Thor, powering up bolts of lighting. Heard the roar as Tony fired off repulsor blasts. 

I’ve even felt Pam draw power, use her abilities. It’s hard to describe. It doesn’t feel unnatural as many superpowers do...in fact, it feels almost TOO natural...a tingle that moves over your skin, a rush, almost like adrenaline, and pain fades, your heart picks up, you feel stronger, faster, better. Holding her hand when she drew it into herself I felt, for just an instant, this connection to the earth, to all those living, green, growing things.

It was intense.

Behind us, the entire lawn began to ripple, the grass reacting to her, and then vines began to snake up all those immaculate tombstones, gripping gently and blossoming in the space of a few heartbeats. Red, white, and blue blossoms in a very familiar pattern.

I could hear people shouting, saw people snapping pictures. She winked at me.

“You’re amazing.”

She smiled one of her wicked little smirks at me.

“Just wait til you see the bikini I’m wearing at the beach later.”


	9. The Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some quick Fourth of July fluff, because I can. :)

There was a time I thought the Wasp had the smallest superhero costume I’d ever seen.

Then I saw Pam’s string bikini.

Seriously, it was just three very small triangles of nearly shear material connected by a network of strings. Green, of course, and it did, technically, cover her more intimate bits (though iher bottom was pretty much completely bare,) but it left almost nothing to the imagination and it was hard to keep my mind on anything else.

And she knew it.

Everytime I’d meet her gaze from across the party, she’d smirk at me, those full pouty lips of hers curling up on one side, her patented one sided, sultry smile--the one that said she knew I was ogling her and she was amused by it--fully on display. 

We were at the annual 4th of July Avengers cookout, a lake house owned by Tony was the chosen venue, and the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, several Xmen...and now the Sirens...were here, enjoying the sun and the water. I was on grill duty, mostly because modern guys seemed to be mystified at how grill up some burgers, dogs, chicken breasts, and steaks properly.

There were a lot of people here, and I was nervous.

Nervous, because Pam wasn’t particularly interested in our divisions of hero vs. villain. Technically, she was considered a terrorist and criminal in her home town, though around me she’d never done more than jaywalk (and yes, Pam walked where she chose and didn’t care about traffic laws, which wouldn’t have been so bad if she wasn’t quite literally the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on, and so I’ve seen her cause actual traffic accidents when drivers stared at her.)

Along with the usual hero suspects, there were several who didn’t exactly fit the typical hero description. At the moment, she was lying on her tummy and Emma Frost, the White Queen, was rubbing in a chlorophyll-based tanning oil on her back. Emma’s bathing suit was white, and cut similarly, and the two women were drawing a lot of stares.

She was carrying on an animated discussion with Erik Lehnsherr from her lounging position, with several others--Hank, Reed, Ororo, Carol--gathered around them, chiming in.

I could hear Harley’s shrill voice screeching ‘Polo!’ every few minutes, she and Ben Grimm were in the lake, along with Thor, some of the kids, Ben blindfolded and fumbling around in waist-deep (to him) water while Harley tried to stifle her giggles as she splashed around him. Miles, Sam, and Kamala forming a rough circle around them, occasionally hollering ‘Polo!” as well.

I was flipping chicken breasts when Tony wandered over. He’d been lounging nearby with Selina Kyle, trying to chat her up I thought.

“Steve, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with Pam and Emma Frost being BFFs.” I grinned at him as he took a drink of his non-alcoholic cocktail.

“Why? Something wrong?” I rumbled. 

“That much hotness is dangerous together.” I rolled my eyes.

“What are they talking about, anyway?” I closed the lid of the grill down and grabbed my own drink.

“How far is too far in a civil rights fight. Poison Ivy and Magneto have pretty similar opinions on that.”

“Yeah, Pam is not shy about it.”

“So what is Selina’s story?” I fought my grin.

“Best thief in the world. She could steal the reactor out of your armor with you looking at her.” At his look, I added, “Better check your wallet.”

Tony laughed, tapped my glass with his. “I think I’m in love, then.”

Peter and Mary Jane arrived somewhat late, along with a couple I didn’t know--friends of Pam and Selina--a blonde in cut off jean shorts, cowboy boots, and a crop top named Dinah and her boyfriend...I found out later was Oliver Queen, of Queen Industries. Ollie joined the politics discussion right away, while Dinah joined Emma, Pam, Selina, Sue, and MJ for umbrella drinks and tanning.

Everyone was happy, and so was I.

That was a new thing, I mused, as Peter helped me serve up food.

While not exactly...sad...I’ve felt, I don’t know, lonely, since my reawakening. I have friends--good ones in fact--but never really anyone to share my life with.

I glanced at Pam. Maybe that had changed?

I made up my own plate, and carefully, Peter and I migrated over to the girls, carrying Pam and MJ’s plates with us.

She was sitting up, applying oil to MJ’s lithe back when I sat next to her, her plate of veggie skewers and ambrosia clutched in one hand.  
“I’ve come bearing gifts of food, beautiful,” I said. 

“Just set it down, sweetness. I’ve got my hands full...Peter said I could.”

“Oh gawd,” moaned MJ, “Say the word and I’ll leave him for you. Your fingers are freaking magic.” There was laughter, Peter was blushing.

From her perch in Ben’s lap, where she was feeding him bites of chicken and getting barbecue sauce all over both of them, a still dripping Harley said, “HA, ya don’t know tha half of it, sista!”

Selina laughed her purring laugh and added, “You boys should probably forbid Ives touching them, she’s notorious for stealin’ yo girls.”

“Really?” said Sue, daintily picking bites of her chicken off the bone, “I’ve got next.”

Everyone laughed but Reed, who looked vaguely offended, or maybe flustered, it was hard to say with him.

There were red faces, heated expressions from the politics guys, but soon everyone was eating and conversation lulled, though it was companionable. I pulled Pam close as she carefully nibbled at spoonfuls of ambrosia--though I knew there would be no kissing while I still tasted like steak. She was warm and soft, and vaguely slippery from the oil that made her beautiful, greenish skin glisten. She smelled like fresh grass with it on.

Tomorrow we’d go back to fighting the good fight, being superheroes, helping people, but today we were just friends, enjoying good weather and better food.

I looked down into her irresistible green eyes and she smiled back up at me through her thick lashes. From any other woman I’d have described that as demure, but I knew she was doing it to drive me wild. It worked.

_You’ve got it bad, Steven Rogers. Captain America is in love._

I raised my drink. “Happy Fourth, everyone!”


	10. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivy and Steve enjoy an evening together in his cabin in the woods, but somehow trouble finds them

The old road was rough.

I was glad we settled on taking the truck, though the way my suspension was squeaking and groaning as we rolled through potholes you could have lost Steve’s bike in completely had me...concerned. It wouldn’t do to break down out here--up here. It was cold--still snow in some of the shaded parts of the forest around us, places where the sunlight failed to reach year round--and I don’t do well in consistent cold. S.A.D. Though, my Seasonal Affective Disorder is more due to my unique physiology than anything else, I’ve learned that consistent warmth and UV light help me combat it.

At any rate, we were driving up to Steve’s cabin for the weekend. It’d been in his family for generations, and sat empty and unvisited during his long suspended animation. Apparently he’d spent the last few years visiting it semi-regularly. It was still pretty rustic, but rustic actually appeals to me, and this far off the grid I felt...alive, even if the plants around me were still sluggish and sleepy. I could feel them waking up, sensing me near, and a ripple of excitement radiating from the truck for miles in every direction. 

Assuming we didn’t slide off the icy road and die, that is.

More familiar with the truck, and frankly a better driver, I was behind the wheel and Steve was next to me, wearing jeans and work boots, a leather jacket, and a look of panic. I was trying not to laugh, but it was incredibly charming how nervous, even anxious, he was. This was a guy who led the Avengers, who regularly faced down cosmic villains, who’d stared unflinching at overwhelming odds in the biggest war in history, but the thought of being alone with me in an out of the way cabin for a romantic weekend had him looking like he was about to bolt.

“Hey, you ok?” I had to speak louder than my normal voice, the heater was blasting. It was important I kept it as toasty as possible. He glanced at me, eyes a little haunted, and gave me what to him was probably a reassuring smile, but it looked tremulous at best to me.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m good, Pam. Sorry, was lost in my thoughts.”

I captured his gloved hand in mine. I was wearing a heavy coat and gloves myself, but I could still feel the heat of his skin through two lairs. I gave him a smile. “Steve, you know if you’re not ready, you can say no. We’ll cuddle for a few days and head back home. There’s no pressure here, I won’t think less of you in any way.”

This was supposed to be the weekend. Steve Rogers, Captain America, was a virgin, and this weekend, we were supposed to make love for the first time. I gave his hand a squeeze.

“I know, Pam. I don’t want to back out. I’m ok.”

I frowned. “Steve, you’re doing that thing again. Remember, we talked about this. The only way this works is if we’re honest with each other. I have no patience for hyper masculine tough guy bullshit.” He looked at me, concerned, and I softened my tone. “You can talk to me, Steve. You can always talk to me.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” He mumbled it, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.

“What if what doesn’t work?” I asked, puzzled.

“This. Everything. What if...what if we don’t work together...yknow...physically.” He was blushing furiously as he thought about the mechanics. I struggled to keep from giggling at him. I have a sadistic streak, I fully admit it. I had to hear him expand on this. 

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t let go of my hand, so I twined our fingers to keep that contact and let him know I wasn’t upset. He rambled. “I...just...what if I’m not good enough? Or big enough or whatever? What if you don’t like me? I’m in love with you, Pam. I’ve never done it, what if it doesn’t work because of the Super Soldier Serum. I don’t want to not measure up. I...what’s so funny?”

I was biting my lip at that point to keep from laughing. He looked angry, cheeks already pink from the chill and blushing turning redder.

“Sweetie, I’ve seen you naked, felt your body respond to me on multiple occasions. The plumbing all works exactly as it’s supposed to. And Steve,” he looked up at me and I smiled, “I don’t know if it’s genetics or the Serum, but you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Didn’t you ever shower with other men in the Army?”

“I, well, I guess but it’s not like I was...looking,” now he was embarrassed again, and I did giggle at him.

“Also, Steve, I’m in love with you too. This is all just jitters. Trust me, this is perfectly natural. It comes to you naturally. I’ve told you before, it’s not some magical, Hollywood movie perfect romance novel experience. It’s messy and awkward, we’ll laugh, we’ll make noises that are hilarious out of context, you’ll feel things, smell things, you’re not used to. It’s ok. It’s not life changing, it’s just sex.” As he nodded, I had to reflect.

It was true, I was in love with him. He made me laugh, made me feel happy, and made me want to spend time with him. I’d let him into a very specific, exclusive club--people I cared about. Him. Harley. Selina.

It was snowing slightly when we pulled up into a slight clearing. The old cabin was picturesque, like something out of a horror movie, and looked relatively abandoned save for a recently replenished woodpile. I knew Steve had recently done that, had been coming out here for a couple of weeks now trying to get it ready. He hadn’t chopped down any young, healthy trees...I’d been teaching him how to find ones that sadly needed to be culled or were already fallen, and I could tell from the split logs he’d listened to me. That was one of the biggest reasons he and I were up here together--he listened. Possibly the only man I’d met in my life who truly did.

“Pam, let me get the fire going before you get out, I don’t want you to get too cold.” He was worried about my S.A.D….another endearing quality, but was already turning the truck’s engine off.

“Sweetness, I don’t think fifteen minutes is going to trigger an episode, and I don’t expect you to do all the work.” He nodded, having learned not to argue with me--men ARE trainable I thought with an inner smirk--then hopped out. We set to work with a comfortable, quiet diligence, getting the place ready to inhabit. He worked on a fire in the stone hearth while I pulled bags out of the back of the truck. The cabin didn’t have running water or electricity, so we’d brought a small generator for emergencies and plenty of drinking water. He’d told me there was a small stream A few hundred yards to the rear of the place, and stretching my senses out I could feel sluggish trees overlooking the banks. The water back there was flowing under a crust of ice, so I mentally noted we could get more for bathing if we needed it.

Steve was still nervous. I caught him stealing glances at me and finally I spoke up, “Hey, Steve?”

His head shot up. “Yes, what is it?”

“Look, we’re both tired from the drive and the work, you look very nervous, why don’t we plan for tomorrow night and just relax this evening, get some rest?”

“I...I’m not...Ok, let’s do that.” He smiled, a bit relieved, and we finished unpacking with less...tension. The cabin was simply built, a large main room, big fireplace with a bearskin rug and antique hunting trophies--deer head, wolf head, a bearskin rug--things I’m not particularly ok with, but I decided to let slide. Contrary to popular belief I’m not an unreasonable woman. Those animals had been murdered a hundred years ago and it’s not like Steve was out killing things to stick their heads on his wall. Off the main room was a kitchen with a propane stove. We’d brought fuel for it. Two bedrooms, one mostly full of storage, and a back door that led to an outhouse, rounded out the layout. Steve had cleaned out the main bedroom, and he was making the bed with the blankets we’d brought with us--heavy stuff to really protect me from the cold. I lit candles as he did and unpacked the food we bought--well, mostly meat. I could grow whatever vegetables we needed with little more than a patch of unfrozen soil.

I cooked, we shared a bottle of wine (which couldn’t affect either of us,) and spent the evening cuddled next to the crackling fire, listening to the wind howling. His body felt good on mine, warm and strong, and despite his continuing concerns he reacted to me. There was a lot of kissing, something he was getting better at, and heavy petting. When the time came, he went to the bedroom ahead of me, warming the blankets up with his body first, so by the time I padded in and slipped under the sheets, everything was warm.

He was thoughtful like that.

He put his arms around me and I could feel his strength, feel the slow, steady heartbeat under the palm of my hand when I rested it against his chest. In the dark, his face was just a shape to my eyes, little more than a silhouette, but I knew, to his, my eyes were glowing, a soft, steady green. In the inky darkness I could even just make out his features in that glow.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his deep voice rumbling, and he raised a hand to my face.”

I laughed softly, not mockingly, “Steve, you can’t even see me.”

“I see you, Pamela.” he said quietly, seriously. I kissed him, because I knew he was telling the truth.

We settled down for some sleep.

***

I slowly became aware of Steve mumbling softly. We’d fallen asleep with my back to him, his taller body a warm, comforting presence, hard against me, in more ways than one. My back was cold, and he’d rolled over in his slumber on his back. He was mumbling something--names, I thought.

I rolled to face him, trying to make him out in the darkness. He was thrashing in his sleep, head rolling side to side.

Stevens. Kowalkski. Embry.

“BUCKY!” he screamed, and suddenly he was fighting me, fighting the unseen ghosts of his past, of a war he’d never had a chance to stop fighting, and I was cupping his cheeks, talking to him, trying to wake him.

“Steven! STEVEN! You need to wake up, Steven! It’s me, it’s Pamela. It’s Pam,” I was pleading with him, I could see his eyes open but unseeing.

“NO! BUCKY!”

In his thrashing his elbow connected with my jaw, and suddenly I was on my back at the foot of the bed, dazed, and he was on top of me. Still unseeing, he straddled me, fist raised back.

“STEVE!” I screeched it, hints of my own trauma bubbling up from the deep place within, where I left it buried, and I was struggling with a part of myself, that thing that was born on Jason Woodrue’s table, that thing that swore Pamela Isley would never be a victim again, and outside, the sleepy trees and snow covered bushes woke, ready to strike at my enemies.

At Poison Ivy’s enemies.

I realized I was screaming, wordless, struggling to stop them, and above me, Steve’s fists were clenched and clutched at his head. He was crying. I was crying.

“Pam?” His voice sounded broken, a croak. Confused and horrified.

“Steven?” I asked.

“Oh my God, Pam, did I hurt you?” I knew--I knew if he even suspected he’d injured me it would destroy him. I sat up and pulled him close, wrapping my arms around him. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me, Steve--I can take a punch from Wonder Woman, ok? I’m here, you’re here, we’re safe--” I was rambling, I know, and I was holding him as he sobbed, clutching at me.

I don’t know how long I held him like that, but at some point I laid back, pulling him with me.

Eventually he’d calmed enough, his breath coming more easily. I put my lips to ear.

“Tell me, Steven. Tell me what you were dreaming. Who were those men?”

Haltingly, he told me about the war. The Airborne. Fighting these Hydra/Nazi guys. Holding men while they screamed for their mothers, bodies torn and shredded into bloody meat. Days spent in foxholes as German artillery rained down, waiting for the one fluke shell that would land in his lap and blow him to pieces. Bio-engineered horrors he couldn’t unsee, the brainchildren of Arnim Zola. That final moment when he lost his partner, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. The laughter of the Red Skull, his own personal nemesis.

I understood. I was the first person he’d ever told this too, the first person he’d trusted to confide in.

So he held me, and I quietly told him about my transformation. The time I’d spent in that lab annex, staring at the ceiling, screaming in agony until I’d lost my voice, the smug, smarmy grin Jason wore the entire time he was injecting me with toxins, poisons--anything he could find. I told him how Jason had used my own research, how he’d manipulated me into coding Project Eden to match my own DNA, how, when I’d balked at sleeping with him, he’d fed me my own pheromone project--a side experiment I’d been working on--and raped me. I told him how I’d begged Jason to let me die, to please end it, and Jason had laughed at me. Then, I told him how he’d screamed at me when, instead of dying, it all became an unrepeatable cocktail of biochemistry that changed me. The Darwyn Effect--the idea that any foreign substance, biological, viral, chemical would be assimilated, rendering me immune--meant Jason’s plans to kill me and steal my research wouldn’t work. I was proud of how steady my voice was, I don’t think I’d told the full story to anyone before.

He held me and stayed quiet--no empty words of comfort or hyper-masculine threats of revenge. I appreciated that. When I was through we lay for some time, my head resting on his broad chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart again. It was comforting, steady, dependable. 

“I’m sorry, Pam.” He rumbled.

“For what?”

“For that nightmare, for losing control, for…”

I cut him off. “Steve, you were in biggest war in history and you never came back. You had to step up and be a superhero. You’ve never had a chance to wind down. I think you have PTSD.”

He was quiet. “That’s what they call shell-shock now? Maybe I do. I don’t know. I just know...I could’ve hurt you, Pam.” I felt him swallow.

“Well, you didn’t, and if you say something stupid next, I’m going to punch you.”

He chuckled. “Ok, I promise, I won’t say something stupid.” He hugged me close with his arm, kissed my hair.

“Steve,” I began, and I ran my hand from his chest down his abs. He was wearing a pair of boxers, and instantly I saw the effect I had. “I think it’s time.”

“Oh.” It was hilariously inadequate as an answer, and I was fighting a grin as I twined my fingers in his and tugged him from the bed. I led him through the cabin, padding on bare feet, toward the fireplace, now little more than embers.

“Get the fire going, Steve,” I murmured. I kissed him on the cheek, and heard him rummaging in the log pile as I went to grab us a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. I even grabbed several candles and a lighter.

The fire was crackling when I got back. Steve’s hair was tousled and he looked...cute. I tried not to giggle at him as I lit candles and he poured.

He was adorably nervous, and we toasted to bad dreams and good people to share them with.

I set my glass down and crawled into his lap, my smile fading, letting my eyes smolder. I knew the effect it had on men, and instantly he was riveted, swallowing past the lump in his throat. I rested my hands on his shoulders, looked him in the eyes. 

“Relax, Steve.”

“Kinda hard,” he managed.

“Kinda noticed,” I shot back, and immediately shimmied my hips, feeling his need. He groaned.

I started him off with kissing. Softly at first, no tongue, just my lips on his, my hands sliding down to guide his to my waist, resting on the curves of my hips. I took my time, only parting my lips after a few moments of almost...chaste...kissing, and as I teased his tongue with mine, I fully straddled him, molding to him, letting him feel my body against his, the way we fit together, and I broke the kiss to rest my forehead on his.

He was looking at me like he was stunned, a visionary apprentice first seeing a work of art from a Master, like I was the most wonderful thing in the universe. “See? This is beautiful, this is natural. Your body will tell you what to do, Steve. Just let it, the same way you listen to it in a fight.”

“I can...I can do that,” he managed to rasp, and I slipped out of tiny little spaghetti strap top, freeing my breasts. His gaze immediately dropped, and I cupped my hands over his and guided him to them. I don’t think he was breathing, but he was staring at me, at my body, in wonder. His hands were big--long, strong fingers, and calloused. I smiled at him, reassuring him when he glanced back up at me, seeking permission. That’s the kind of man he was. I guided his hands over my body, showing him how to touch me, and he let me.

I touched him, slowly, caressing him, running my nails over his skin and lowering my head to taste him, flicking his nipples with my tongue, nibbling his earlobe, suckling softly at his pulse, and all through it he groaned, his body reacting to me. Through the brief material of his boxers and my satin panties, I could feel every twitch, every throb, and when he let his body lead the way, let himself grind his hips into me, I could see the sensation was maddening.

I took his boxers off, freeing him from their confines, noting the little spot of wetness on the material, and wrapped my fingers around him. He was so thick, so hard, and when I touched him, he moaned, low in his throat, thrillingly masculine. I loved it, loved the power, and I smirked at him as I slowly began to stroke him. He threw his head back, helplessly thrusting into my hand.

“Steve. You’re a natural.” I said, and he gasped.

“God, Pam, that’s…”

“Should I quit teasing you?”

“Yes, please...please, Pam.”

In truth, I’d been turning my own erotic throttle up for the past hour, and my desire for him was a snarling animal in my body and I wasn’t in the mood for teasing. “No more teasing,” I agreed, and then we were kissing, hungrily.

In front of the crackling fire, lying in the soft fur of an antique bear skin, I guided him inside me, and as he first slid in, I heard myself gasp at the delicious feeling of being filled up, stretched. Steve caught on quickly, and for a while we were one, our bodies in rhythm, devouring each other, lost in one another’s flesh.

I lost track of time, lost track of everything but the feel of him moving inside me, his hands, his burning mouth, the feel of his hard muscle under my hands, the taste of the sweat on his skin, the deep, bass sound of his moans in my ear, calling my name, calling to God. The whole world shrank to a single point, the fire, the cabin, the fur, Steve, and, for a time at least, I let it.

The fire had died back down. Steve lay on his back, dozing, and I lay in the crook of his arm, head pillowed on his shoulder, hand resting on his stomach. I was drowsy, close to falling asleep. Outside the cabin, I could feel the plants sluggishly beginning to stir as the sun began to creep toward the horizon. The sky was probably almost imperceptibly lighter over there, I thought. I was almost asleep when I felt it. A disturbance in the trees to the southeast, still many miles off, but they were being stirred by concentrated wind. 

Helicopters, I realized, and they were in formation, flying straight at us.

Oh no…

***

“Squads. Report in.” Waller’s voice was flat.

“Alpha Squad, ready for deployment,” came the first answer.

“Bravo Squad, almost in position, ETA 45 seconds,” came the second answer.

“Charlie Squad, still en route, ETA two minutes,” came the third answer.

“Task Force X, ready for deployment,” said Flag.

“Alright men, you have your orders. Mission is greenlit. Code word, Mayflower. I say again, code word, Mayflower.”

It was quiet in the code room. Eisling looked tired, showing every year of his age. They’d just greenlit a capture/kill mission against the symbol of everything he’d ever believed in. Captain America.

“Are we doing the right thing, Amanda?”

She rubbed a hand over her face, and for just a minute, just a split second, the cold, heartless armor she always wore like a second skin slipped, and he caught a glimpse of doubt.

“God I hope so, Wade.”

**Next time: Captain America and Poison Ivy vs. the Suicide Squad!!


End file.
